


C Augmented

by AceFace98



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I did this instead of my other work, I had to write this it was too fluffy not to, I see your music aus and add one guitar, Music, music! Stan, not sorry, nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:50:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8946541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceFace98/pseuds/AceFace98
Summary: Stanley Pines seemed to have the weirdest set of items collecting dust in the multiverse. Or: Mabel finds a guitar, Stan tells the kids some stories, and there is at least one music pun shared.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have two requests I'm suppose to be working on, but today is the start of Yule and the gift giving happiness is in the air so I wrote this instead ^^ I just wanted something really fluffy, OK?  
> I can't remember where, but I know I've seen other AUs where Stan knows how to play an instrument, so I took that and used it as inspiration. I actually don't personally know how to play the guitar, but I've been trying to learn and I took a lot of music theory in high school, so I hope I did this justice (^^)b

Stanley Pines seemed to have the weirdest set of items collecting dust in the multiverse. Considering who his brother was, this was  _ extremely  _ surprising. 

Maybe that was just because even  _ Stanley _ wasn’t entirely sure what he’d fine when they attacked the storage space in the attic. As they sorted through the boxes and bags, memories seemed to come up every couple of seconds. Mabel cheered with each new discovery.

Cleaning out the attic seemed to help Stan’s amnesia just as much as the scrapbook had. Ford supposed that made sense, considering cleaning out something almost akin to a time capsule on just the life of Stan Pines would’ve probably brought up nostalgic thoughts irregardless. In any case, Stanley seemed extremely happy shifting through all the stuff he kept stored away, picking out things and telling stories about his life and adventures.

Ford was genuinely surprised by the number of new things he learned about his brother in just that one day. Sure, he had missed nearly forty years of his brother’s life, and it wasn’t like Stan had just paused while Ford explored the multiverse. But, in a way, he kind of expected all those missing stories to amount to the same kind of questionable legality shenanigans Stan always seemed to be going on about. Things like hearing Stan speak Spanish, or that he had gotten married in Vegas (for about a week), or that he never ended up getting the tattoos he had always talked about when the two were teens, all  _ that _ stuff shocked Ford.

It was kind of silly, but at the same time the shock was also pretty enjoyable. Ford  _ liked _ learning new things about his brother, even when it felt weird. It meant they were getting closer, at the very least.

But some things seemed to just be too weird.

“Grunkle Stan!!” Mabel gasped, unearthing something Ford would’ve never expected in Stanley’s possession. “I never knew you played  _ guitar _ !!”

Stan blinked, looking at the instrument like he didn’t know what to think.

It was a pretty basic guitar, as far as Ford knew. He had never really cared for music in general, so he knew very little on the topic. Stan’s guitar seemed to be like any other kind Ford had ever seen, a light color with six strings and just the barest hint of dust.

“Oh  _ man _ .” Stan breathed, picking the guitar from Mabel’s hands. “Oh man I haven’t play this in  _ ages _ .”

“So you  _ do _ play?” Dipper asked, looking just as curious as the rest of them.

Stan beamed. “You bet I do! If you know what you’re doing, busking will get you half way across the country. Man, old Spruce here and I go  _ way _ back.” 

Stan sat down on the ground, cross legged, and put the guitar in his lap, like he had done so a million times. Ford didn’t bother to remind him that there were chairs scattered throughout the room; he seemed halfway caught in an old memory and Ford didn’t want to ruin that. Stan hummed each note as he tuned the strings, seemingly able to just sort of  _ know _ how the device was suppose to sound. He ran his thumbnail over all the strings, smiling contently.

“Only, this ain't Spruce.” Stan muttered after a minute, mostly talking to himself as the memory played out. “Old Spruce got smashed in the car crash. Nah, this is Spruce Jr ... yeah! Yeah no I remember now! I was at the flea market! This baby was only fifteen dollars, poor old woman with arthritis was selling it. Probably not the smartest decision I’ve ever made, since I couldn't play so well after I broke my fingers that one time ...”

Ford frowned as he listening to Stan talk. He resisted the urge to check Stan’s fingers himself at that news. 

“But man!” Stan said, beaming at his great nephew and niece. “Playing music gives you the best feeling, I swear.”

Mabel was smiling, with just a hint of tears in her eyes. “That’s so sweet, Grunkle Stan!” 

“Yeah Grunkle Stan!” Dipper said, both kids sitting in front of him. “You should play something.”

Stan smiling, his hands seeming to move without any thought behind the action. He was playing scales, that much Ford could tell, but then he broke the notes up and started dancing with them. Ford didn’t have the words to express what Stan was doing, all without pay attention, and in a way it made him a little baffled.

It was always ... weird whenever Stan had knowledge about something Ford didn’t. Not that it was  _ bad _ , per se, but it always made Ford feel oddly out of the loop. He just really wasn’t used to not knowing something in general, he supposed.

“When you do street performing,” Stan explained, his hands moving on their own accord. “Generally the songs you do are very long, but easy. The point isn’t to play things people stop to listen to, the point is that no matter what part of the song they start listening at they’re interested in it. So a lot of the songs I wrote for performing just, like, repeat themselves over and over. But I’m sure I can remember  _ something _ that you’ll like...” 

So he started playing. The song he played was happy, the kind you could dance to, but very simple. If Ford wasn’t watching Stan’s fingers, he would’ve assumed it was the kind of song that took little effort to play. But he  _ was _ watching Stan’s fingers, and honestly it made his own ache in sympathy. But Stan made it look like it was all a cake walk, with a big old smile on his face.

Mabel was bobbing to the beat after the first couple of chords, then she snapped along with it. Dipper joined in when she shot him a smile, and Stan’s grin seemed to just build on itself. Ford couldn’t help his own smile, or the toe tapping. 

The song was sweet, and Stan seemed so happy, that for a long moment the entire family just sat around and listened.

* * *

 

Here’s the thing about grifting; if you’re good at it, you can make a lot of money doing it.

Stanley Pines was not a good grifter. He was a fairly modest con-man - which was a lot  _ like _ being a grifter, only not nearly as fancy and with a lot less money involved - but he was a pretty terrible grifter. 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried. He had, he had learned everything he could about the art and had tried his best at it. But anyone who had more than a handful of bills to lose always caught onto his scam too quickly. 

Here’s the thing about busking; if you’re good at it, you can make a lot of money doing it.

Stanley Pines was not a good musician. Not good enough to make an honest living out of it, anyways. But from what he had been able to learn, and from what he had come to feel for, he had been good enough for street performances.

There had been a jazz group, back in some town that Stan couldn’t remember the name of, that had taken Stan in. He had been given a guitar, a couple of lessons, and instructions to stay in the back so his white skin didn’t stand out too much in their very mixed group. He couldn’t remember why he had left the group, only there had been something said about traveling, but he  _ could _ remember kind faces and a lot of patience.

Once gone, Old Spruce and him had had a pretty good run on their own. In many places, busking was illegal, but a lot of bars allowed musicians to camp out on a stage and earn a few stray dollars. On days when the scamming and general thievery weren’t working out, there was something reliable and reassuring about the money he earned playing music.

And then there had been that car crash. Stan couldn’t remember what he had done to piss off the local, erm,  _ family _ , but they had certainly made their anger known when they forced him off the road. At the end of the day, he  _ and _ the car had managed to walk away, but a lot of Stan’s stuff hadn’t been so luck. Old Spruce had been broken to twigs.

Stan had never known had expensive guitars actually were until he went looking for a new one. He had felt a lot of emotion in finding out the prices, in fact, since that old jazz group had given him Spruce completely free. He had also felt emotions when he found out he’d probably never play again; if he had a couple of hundred dollars to spend, he was going to spend it on more pressing things. As reliable a method of cash making it had been, he couldn’t justify the purchase when his other start-ups got him by. 

And then he had gotten Ford’s postcard, and everything about his life had changed. 

It had been a couple years after Stan first renamed the Murder Hut to the Mystery Shack when he had taken that trip to the flea market. He couldn’t remember what about that particular market had caught his eyes, but when he found the guitar he hadn’t been able to resist. He had tried to act disinterested in the purchase, shoving a twenty at the old woman almost rudely, but he hadn’t fooled the woman in the least.

She had chuckled when she went to give him change. “You seem like my kind of musician. Care too much to let a good, reliable instrument pass you by.” She had said. She wiggled her fingers, cringing a little in pain. “Take care though, deary. That there love of yours isn't very loving on your joints.”

Stan had flexed his own fingers in sympathy. 

“‘S just a hobby.” He insisted, trying to ignore the fact that after breaking three fingers in his tab hand he probably  _ shouldn’t _ play again. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” The woman said, handing his five in change with a smile. 

She had such a warmth about her, though. Stan couldn’t forget about her, especially not when his joints popped and complained as he strummed, his left hand all but moaning in distress.

“Again!” Mabel cheered when he finally had to stop. She was grinning at him like mad, her braces catching the light.

Stan rubbed his left fingers, cracking a couple of knuckles in the process. “Sorry kiddo, gotta give the digits a rest.”

Mabel pouted for exactly three seconds before she nodded in understanding. “Ooh! Grunkle Stan you should teach me and Dipper how to play!” She cried, looking suddenly ecstatic with the idea.

Stan smiled at her, Dipper nodding along with her. “You should know it’s a lot of work,” he warned. “And sometimes a lot of pain too, until your fingers get used to the strings. And I’m kind of no good as a teacher.”

“Aww,  _ psfft _ .” Mabel insisted. “Just a few notes!  _ Pleeeassse? _ ”

Stan sighed, but he was still smiling. “Alright, sure thing you gremlins. Get over here.”

He could only show them a few notes, and he could only teach it to them one at a time, but within that hour Spruce Jr. had been passed around dozens of times. Mabel complained about how far away each note was on the neck, Dipper had a hard time with the whole strumming thing, and neither of them seemed to be capable of holding the guitar in their lap right. But still, they were all clearly having fun. Stan only called it quits when the twins’ fingers started to give the barest traces of cuts. 

He could only vaguely remember the guitar lessons he had received, back when he had been in the jazz band. He remember the teacher, a much older man with a soft accent, in little bits and pieces, but he couldn’t remember his name. He just remembered his gentle laugh and patient hand.

A lot of the lessons had made no sense at the time, but the longer Stan played the more they clicked into place. Music theory had been a lot of that, notes and chords that sounded like Latin when he had first heard about them.

Stan  _ still _ couldn’t read sheet music, but he knew chords pretty OK now. He used to say that his entire life was a lot like an augmented chord, like something that was  _ almost _ pleasant but had missed it by one note. 

Now it was a bit like his life had straightened itself out into a proper major chord. Something light, easy to play, and even easier to listen to. He smiled easily, and promised both twins he’d teach them more in the morning.

* * *

 

The elder Pines twins had been out to sea for only a few short months before they had docked again, heading home for the holiday season. Dipper and Mabel hadn’t been able to convince their parents to let them go back to Gravity Falls for winter break - something about there not being enough money for the trip - but they had managed to score a visit from their grunkles. So the two had rented the docking space, and a car, and had traveled out to the small house in Piedmont loaded down with gifts and cheer.

Apparently, they weren’t the only ones with that.

Mabel had been snickering basically the entire night, clearly bad at keeping the secret. She kept shooting looks at her grunkles and at her brother, and after they got their gifts from Stan and Ford she darted off to get the thing she was so excited for.

For Ford, they had given him a new set of very  _ nice _ ink wells for his quill. But, clearly, the hype had been for Stan.

“Tada!” Mabel said, handing over a long case with a bright red ribbon on it.

“What’s this?” Stan asked, holding the case close. It was a hard case, clearly waterproof and damage resistant, but it gave no hints to its contents. Stan set it on his lap and unclipped the clasped, then unzipped it.

Inside was a brand new, very vibrant guitar.

“Surprise!” Mabel cheered. “It’s a left handed guitar! We mentioned your hand to the lady at the shop, and she says it’ll take time to learn how to adjust but that switching will help since it won’t be so painful! Now you won’t have to  _ fret _ , ha!”

“We’re calling him Spruce the Third.” Dipper added, with a bright grin. 

It was clearly not a spruce guitar, but Stan felt himself tearing up at the sight anyways. He had enough sense to very carefully put the case on the ground - waterproof! The kids really thought of everything! - before he all but lunged at them for a big pile of hugs.

The next time the kids and him got together, he had Spruce Jr and Spruce III with him. The music lessons lasted most of the day, and all of them had very sore fingers - for the kids, it was their left hands, but for Stan it was his right - but all of them were smiling and laughing. They even managed to drag Ford into the music, though Stan had a hard time figure out what Ford’s extra finger should be doing.

It was, without a doubt, one of the best presents had had ever received. 


End file.
